


Iron and Clay

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: Angst, Drumknott and Vetinari have a sort of QPR, Feet of Clay, M/M, many thoughts head full
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Vetinari has some misgivings about sort-of-not-really-lying to Sam Vimes. Drumknott is concerned.*Plays “I Want To Break Free” on the piano*
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Rufus Drumknott & Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	Iron and Clay

Havelock Vetinari was nearly always more concerned about what worked than what was right. Which made it fairly alarming to Drumknott when late one night he turned to him and asked “Do you think I should have told him?”

“Told who what, sir?”

Vetinari licked his fingertips and snuffed out a candle. It was a bad habit, licking his fingers. He’d still done it when he’d known there was poison in the room.

“Vimes. Lamp de Poisson.” 

Drumknott frowned. “Just to be clear, you’re worrying about this because you... withheld information?” 

Vetinari nodded. Drumknott stared at him. Vetinari had figured out how he was being poisoned less than 24 hours before the watch. He’d realized when Vimes was out buying him a pizza. 

Havelock had it bad, if he was worrying about honesty of all things. 

“To be frank, my lord, I thought of it as a sign that you were recovering.”

Drumknott searched the Patrician’s face. Earnesty did not look good on Vetinari. He looked a bit like an underfed pony. Drumknott actually made a physical note to tell him at a later time that the dark eyeliner below his lower lashes was not working. 

“I think you made the right decision. It would almost have been cruel to say as soon as you found out. That’s what you told me. What brought this on?”

“It’s just,” Vetinari shifted in his chair, stretching his long spine, “I’ve been thinking I should be... more respectful of the watch.”

Drumknott reached out and felt Vetinari’s forehead with the back of his hand. No fever. He lifted one of Vetinari’s hands, feeling the raised veins and tendons, hard yet delicate. “It’s alright to fall in love with someone that cares about you,” he said, finally. 

“He cares about the stability of the city.” Vetinari did not deny being in love.

-

Vimes was still worried by how easily the Patrician had been poisoned. If someone was actually mad enough to kill Vetinari they could do so tomorrow. This was the problem with relying on people acting in their best interest. People very frequently did the opposite. 

He wasn’t used to seeing Vetinari vulnerable. It had shaken him. Before now he had thought of him as the one with all the answers, always three steps ahead and totally in control. 

He felt safe, Vimes realized. Even when he was near-dead and in pain he had felt safe and he probably still felt safe up there in the palace. It wasn’t fair. It was irresponsible to rely Vimes to protect him when Vetinari was the one who could see the gestalt. To Vetinari, Clues were particles caught on a web that made it look different in the dewy morning sunlight. 

Yet part of him ached with an odd kind of joy at this realization. Vetinari was in less pain because of him. He wasn’t holding on to everything so tightly that his nails were making his palms bleed. He felt like he could eat, even if the food wasn’t very good.

If only the bastard could show some gratitude. 

What Vimes didn’t know was that in the strange poetic state of high affect that the arsenic had brought Vetinari, slamming the door had made him cry. It was really for the best that Vimes did not know this, because if he did he would be terrified.

When he had found Vetinari slumped over his desk his terror had mostly been of the political instability that would follow, but as he felt his pulse and his breath his relief was that Havelock was alive. He had carried him to his bedroom and tried to make him comfortable. And Vetinari didn’t mind. He acted like he expected him to look after him.

-

“How did he know I don’t like anchovies?”

“I expect he just asked the guards what they wanted, they ate most of the pizza... Look, I really think you should just write to him.” Drumknott had rarely seen Vetinari this agitated. But then again, even Vetinari’s Aunt Roberta hadn’t sat beside his bed every day when he got sick. She always had to take care of the cat.

Vetinari pulled out a piece of paper and began to write “Commander Sir Samuel Vimes” then crumpled it up. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t have to send it,” Drumknott said gently. “Just writing it down will help.”

What Vetinari didn’t know was how much Vimes had wanted to kiss his forehead while he lay half asleep. How much he wanted him to feel okay again.


End file.
